


Knives That Often Leave Scars

by ShadowHaloedAngel



Series: Stay [4]
Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Bloody Hands, F/F, Heist Wives, Late Night Conversations, Post-Prison, Stabbing, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-25 06:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16191716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHaloedAngel/pseuds/ShadowHaloedAngel
Summary: Lou gets stabbed. She wants to know just what the hell Debbie's gotten herself mixed up in, because weapons have always been against their code. It's finally time for some answers.Prompts: 1. Stabbed/2. Bloody hands/22. Friendly fire; 13. “Stay.”





	Knives That Often Leave Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to flightinflame for sending me the prompts, to Fahre for inspiration, and to Why for being an exceedingly patient and appropriately evil sounding board and second pair of eyes.
> 
> I took one look at the prompts and knew I had to do something with Debbie and Lou for them, but rather than doing the challenge properly with a series of short fics, I ended up planning out a whole series with a story arc and everything, combining prompts into stories. I've never done anything like this before, and I appreciate that I'm not technically doing it properly this time, but I'm excited about it. The whole series is planned, but might not all go up during October depending on how long it takes me to write. Obviously, warning, this is based on Whumptober prompts, and it's going to go pretty dark at times. I promise there will be a happy ending, because I don't do hurt without comfort, it's just that this time there's going to be a little longer to wait. I hope you'll find it worth it.
> 
> Oh, and I'll award cookies to people who figure out what the connection is between work titles as the month goes on

Debbie’s been on edge ever since that incident with the roofies. She’s assuming it was roofies. She didn’t exactly go and get a blood test to check, but it seems pretty likely. Of course she knows there are hundreds of other drugs out there now, roofies technically only means one of them, but these people are old-school and she wouldn’t be surprised. She has flashes of memory, but nothing more than that, and Lou’s being tight-lipped about what happened. Whenever Debbie asks, whenever she tries to find out more about the man who targeted her, to work out whether it was a one-off or whether it is part of something bigger (and she’s so, so sure that it’s part of something bigger), Lou just looks at her. Debbie’s never seen Lou look like that before. Sadness is new to those blue, blue eyes and every time she sees it Debbie wants so much never to see it again. 

She was hoping that this would stop after she got out, that she’d be able to disappear and put it all behind her. Part of her had been planning to run the second she got out, to take Lou with her and vanish the way they’d talked about when they were young. Most of her had just been in denial, wanting so much to pretend everything was fine and normal and that life could and would go on. When she’d discovered the life Lou had built for herself, just on the right side of legal, something she was so proud of… the part of Debbie that was burying her head in the sand had won out. 

She should have known better. She should have known that playing with fire would come home to roost, and now the flames were licking around the edges of Lou’s life too. Debbie would never forgive herself if something happened to Lou, because although they were partners, Lou had gotten out of the life, and even if Debbie had persuaded her back in, the occasional job here or there was different from dragging her into /this/. She hated herself for letting herself come back here, putting so many more people at risk because she was a fucking coward, but she’d never wanted to be part of this in the first place. This was Danny’s fault, and the first Debbie had known of it was being beaten to within an inch of her life in the showers one day. 

They hadn’t killed her. Sometimes she wished they had because it would have been easier, so much easier than this. But they had been professionals, knowing just how hard to hit, where to hit, to make it hurt the most but not do any major damage. They wanted her to suffer, that was the message. Danny had pissed off the wrong person and now he was dead and they were coming after Debbie because whatever he had done was bad enough that the whole family had to pay. That had been enough to keep her up at night, wondering if they were coming, where they were, how they were going to get to her next. Flashbacks to the beating, to the promises they’d whispered as the blows kept falling. 

Things had been quiet for the first couple of weeks at Lou’s club and Debbie had been allowing herself to hope that perhaps they couldn’t find her here, that she’d disappeared, that it might all end. Even gangsters got bored, right? But whatever Danny had done was apparently enough of an insult that it couldn’t be allowed to pass like that, and Danny’s death wasn’t enough, and now… they’d found her here too and she was back to being unable to sleep at night, not because of what had happened in the past but because of what might happen in future, because now they knew about Lou, because now the only person Debbie loved was in the sights of people who would stop at nothing to burn her entire world down, and they weren’t to be bargained with. 

She didn’t go down into the club anymore, barely left the set of rooms upstairs that functioned as Lou’s home, she wasn’t sleeping, could barely eat, and she was becoming increasingly paranoid, jumping at shadows. She knew Lou had noticed, she /knew/ she wasn’t hiding it well and Lou had never been stupid. No woman survived in this business long if she couldn’t read a situation, but Debbie didn’t have the words for this. She didn’t want to admit quite how bad, quite how dangerous this was, she didn’t want to see the look on Lou’s face when she realised how badly Debbie had let her down. 

She’d started carrying a knife. It felt wrong, but it was the only thing that gave her some degree of comfort. Never in her life had Debbie Ocean carried a weapon. Oceans didn’t use weapons, they used words and confidence and guile, never weapons. Hurting people wasn’t part of the game. It seemed ridiculous that even in prison she’d never carried a shiv and now she was just as trapped as she had been there and relying on a blade for protection. Now she understood that old adage about a cornered animal being at its most dangerous, because the adrenaline was about all that was keeping her going in the face of a foe that was far bigger, smarter, and more dangerous than she would ever be able to defeat. 

It's late, dark and quiet, mid-week, and tired of lying awake Debbie slips out of Lou's arms on the pretext of going to the bathroom. Lou's still asleep. Debbie is getting better at slipping out without her noticing. She always makes sure to go back before morning, that Lou never wakes up to a cold and empty bed. That wouldn't be fair. And it's not as though Debbie doesn't appreciate it. Honestly there's nowhere she'd rather be than tucked up in Lou's arms, sleeping sound and waking up to the best kind of lazy morning sex, but that... well. That's not the world she's living in now, no matter how much she wants it. 

She stares at her shadowy reflection in the mirror for a moment, taking in every line, every shadow, all the marks this nightmare is leaving on her. Debbie sighs and washes her hands, the cold water waking her up. Not that she's in danger of falling asleep, but the shock of the temperature serves to ground her in her body just a little bit. She wipes her hands off on her thighs, holding on to the cold a little more, and turned to head back to the bedroom. 

As she steps out of the bathroom, a shadowy figure moves in her peripheral vision, and instinctively, desperately, fear short-circuiting every logical circuit in her body, Debbie lashes out with her hand and a blade flashes silver in the moonlight. 

The figure crumples with a curse, and Debbie fumbles for the light switch, her whole body shaking violently because oh god, oh god what has she just done?

The light is violent, bright and sudden and it blinds her for a moment, and when she can focus again she looks again, almost terrified to see what she'll find. 

What she finds is Lou, curled up, holding her side and staring up like she can't believe what she's seeing. 

Debbie feels the world start spinning as she forgets how to breathe because no, no, no she can't have gotten it that wrong, surely, she can't have betrayed all her principles and lashed out with a weapon and hit /Lou/, she can't be the one who's gotten Lou mixed up in this... except of course she is, it was always her, it's all her fault, it's her fault Lou's been dragged into this but it isn't some vendetta that's hurt Lou, it's Debbie's own paranoia. 

She falls to her knees next to Lou end everything is unreal and she can't tell if it's exhaustion or adrenaline or because she's just /stabbed/ her partner, and Lou is /staring/ at her and Debbie can't think, can't speak, can't /move/ but she has to do something, she has to do something because the blood is spreading, oozing deep red over Lou's pale skin and the contrast of it makes her want to throw up.

"Lou-"

And that's her voice, Debbie knows it's her voice, but it doesn't sound familiar and she doesn't remember speaking and the words are pouring out from somewhere else. All she can hear is the rushing of blood in her ears like waves on a beach, and that blood is icy cold in her veins right now. She can't look away from that line of red, the way it's spreading through Lou's fingers as the Australian tries to put pressure on it, tries to hold her organs inside and Lou is dying right here on the floor of her own club and Debbie can't move to help her because she's frozen in place, because this is all her fault. 

She realises Lou's lips are moving, Lou's eyes are on hers, and there's still life in them, life and so much pain, and Debbie clenches her fists, knuckles white, nails digging bloody red crescents into her thighs as she forces herself to listen, forces herself to ignore the tidal wave of fight-or-flight which has her paralysed and focus on Lou.

"Debbie. Debbie. I need you to focus. Debbie."

And it's as if the fabric of reality somehow snaps back into place from that elastic moment that seemed to last forever while the blood was dripping between Lou's fingers, ad Debbie can feel herself drop back into her body. 

"What- what do I need to do I'm so sorry what do I need to do-"

"Get me a clean towel. Grab one from in there, and give it to me. Then call Sue."

Debbie sways and almost falls as she stands, launching to her feet too quickly with the urgency of the situation, with the terror tying her insides in knots and clouding her mind, with exhaustion and hunger and everything else, but she catches herself against the wall and grabs a towel from the cabinet under the sink with shaking hands. 

Lou shifts as Debbie brings the towel back, and Debbie presses it over the slice, a neat incision parting the skin with edges that marry so perfectly. That's some mercy at least, and Debbie can feel bile burn the back of her throat as the blood soaks through and stains her hands, dark and warm and sticky and she doesn't think it will ever come off. Is this what Lady Macbeth felt like? Debbie Ocean has never really felt guilty before, but now she understands what it feels like, and it's hot and acrid like metal on the tongue, and heavy.

Lou's hands come over hers, and it takes Debbie a moment to realise why, and then she jerks back, letting Lou take over pressing the cloth over the wound, and goes to grab her phone. She leaves bloody thumbprints on the screen before she remembers that this phone doesn't have Sue's number in it, and she doesn't have her old one back. She grabs Lou's, painfully aware that this is wasting precious time while her partner bleeds out on the hall floor because of her own fucking stupidity. The passcode is the same, and that's another small mercy Debbie doesn't feel like she deserves as she scrolls through the contact list and hits Sue's number, hoping the woman picks up. 

"Hey Lou, it's been a while. I'm assuming this isn't a social call."

"I stabbed Lou."

The words come out in a rush and Debbie's voice is shaking almost as much as she is, leaning on the wall, eyes on Lou, wondering whether she's imagining how pale Lou looks now, or whether the blood loss really is that fast, whether it's all too late. 

"...Okay Debbie. I'm on my way. Is she conscious?"

"Yes. Yes, she's conscious."

"Is it bleeding badly?"

"I... I don't-"

"Is it bleeding bright and fast or dark and slow?"

"Dark and..." to Debbie it doesn't seem slow, but she's seen what arterial bleeding looks like before and this isn't it, "Dark and slow."

"Put pressure on the wound. Are you at the club?"

"Yes. Yes we're at the club."

"Stay with her until I get there, then come down and let me in. You'll need to ask Lou where the keys are. I'll be there in about ten minutes. If she starts losing consciousness, call an ambulance."

"Yes. Yes. I will. Okay. Pressure. Keys. Ambulance."

"Right."

And there's warmth in Sue's voice and Debbie doesn't understand why, doesn't understand why she's not being met with cold rage, with hatred, with contempt, with all the things she deserves. 

"You'll be okay."

And she hangs up and Debbie's on her own with Lou again, trying to hold on to a thread of self-control because if she falls apart now Lou's going to die and if she's responsible for that, Debbie Ocean will walk out of this club tonight and stand in front of a train, or possibly just hand herself over to the people hunting her and tell them to take their time. As it is, she doesn't know how she'll ever forgive herself for this, and she can't imagine that Lou will either. 

Lou's watching her, blue eyes steady. Debbie doesn't know how much she heard. 

"Is Sue coming?"

How is her voice so even? Debbie doesn't understand. Her entire world has just upended, and Lou's been hurt and yet somehow she seems so with it. 

"Yeah. Yeah. She said ten minutes."

"Okay. The keys to the back door are in the box on my dresser. You'll have to go down and let her in. Did she say anything else?"

"Keep pressure on it and if you start losing consciousness call an ambulance."

"I'll be sure to do that."

There's even a wryness to her voice now, and Debbie doesn't understand how Lou can find anything humorous about this. 

"Go get the key and head downstairs. Maybe don't take the knife this time. We won't be any better off if you stab the nice doctor too."

And Debbie feels sick as she drops the blade on the floor. It lands with a soft clack. Such a flat sound, an innocent sound, the kind of sound any little thing might make. But this wasn't a little thing. Debbie doesn't think she's ever seen anything so awful as the sliver of silver covered in red, stark against the dark wood of the floor. 

It's only a few steps to the bedroom, but when she reaches for the delicate box she leaves bloody fingerprints on the pale wood of the box and they don't look like they'll ever come off. The keys are there and she grabs them, squeezing tight, feeling the teeth bite into her hand like some kind of penance and she wants to squeeze tighter still, wants hands covered in her blood rather than Lou's, wants something that might begin to wash all of this away. 

She heads for the stairs, knowing the door Lou meant, hating the thought of being apart from her but knowing that she has to, knowing that the best chance Lou has is if Debbie pulls it together long enough to let Sue in. Of course, the fact that Lou wouldn't need a medic if Debbie hadn't fucked up hasn't escaped her either. 

Ten minutes feels like forever, but there's a knock on the door and when Debbie opens it, it is to her eternal relief that a petite blonde slips into the club carrying a black bag over one arm. 

"Where is she?"

And Debbie shows her upstairs without a word, running, glad that Sue's close on her heels. 

Sue kneels at Lou's side and moves the towel to check the wound. The blood is more sluggish now, but it's still glistening.

"...That's a lot better than it could have been. Is that the knife?"

Lou nods. Debbie can't move. 

"It's a clean cut. No jagged edges, neat slice, fairly shallow, should heal pretty easily. Nothing in it either. I'll clean it and get it sewn up. Even brought something to numb the pain."

And Lou's smile is fragile, but it's there, and she's looking at Sue and Debbie is on the outside looking in and she deserves to be locked out forever, even if the thought makes her heart feel like it's been ripped right out of her chest. 

"I appreciate that."

"It's not the first time I've been to see you."

And that makes Debbie frown, staring at Lou, but those stories are going to have to wait for another time, if she ever gets to hear them at all. She gestures vaguely towards the bedroom, wondering if getting away will do something about her nausea. 

"I'll... leave you to it?"

And Lou looks up, blue eyes piercing her weak attempt at deflection.

"No. Stay."

Sue pulls out the needle and primes it, injecting it just above the slice, and Lou's head tilts back and her teeth bite her pink lip just for a moment, and Debbie is transfixed on every twitch of Lou's features. It's not the first time she's been captivated by Lou, not even close, but this time it's because she can't afford to leave any mental real estate for anything else. She can't allow herself to think about anything else that's going on because Lou needs her. At least... God, Debbie hopes Lou still needs her. 

Sue is wearing gloves, and Debbie can see the blood on the finger tips, but that's just on nitrile and it'll disappear easily enough... she stares down at her own hands, rusty brown and tacky. She rubs at it, watching it flake off. Lou's precious metals dropping to the floor like dust. 

It seems to take an age for Sue to stitch the wound closed, and Debbie's torn between not being able to watch and not being able to look away. She's grateful that Sue's taking the time to do it right, but... nothing about this situation is okay and she doesn't know how to pretend it is. 

Lou's sitting propped against the wall, watching her. There's still the hint of a smile on her lips and Debbie doesn't understand. 

"I knew you could be cutting when you wanted to be but /Jesus/ Deb. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Debbie doesn't understand how Lou can be laughing now. It's a coping strategy, she knows that, Lou has always greeted bad times with grim humour, but before now the bad times haven't involved Debbie. She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to smile again. 

Sue glances up, but to Debbie's eternal gratitude, doesn't ask. She's an old friend, almost as old as their partnership, and Debbie trusts her, but at the same time she knows Sue must be wondering what the hell is going on too. Instead, she peels off the gloves. 

"You're not looking so good, Debbie. What's going on?"

Her voice is quiet and calm, gentle, and it's yet another kindness Debbie doesn't deserve. She doesn't know how to face these questions, doesn't know how to be honest. 

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You stabbed Lou and that would mess anyone up, especially since I'm assuming it was an accident. You've never carried a weapon, not once, not in all the years I've known you. And you're dizzy way out of proportion to a situation like this."

"She hasn't been sleeping. Or eating that much, lately. She had a seizure a couple of weeks ago, but we're pretty sure that was a one-off. Fever and exhaustion and stress, you know how it can be. Someone roofied her a couple of days ago too, but there don't seem to be any lingering effects."

And Debbie tries to glare at Lou, but she can't, wondering why Lou's sharing all this private information, even if Sue is a friend.

Sue snaps her bag shut, expression unimpressed, lips narrow. 

"I see. You've certainly been having an exciting time since your release, then."

"It sure as hell hasn't been quiet."

Sue stands up, glances back to Lou and then takes Debbie's hands.

"Whatever this is, you aren't dealing with it alone. We're here, and we'll back you up, whatever you need. But you can't keep secrets like this Debbie, because it's killing you. And that's an official medical opinion. So think about it, and decide whether what's going on is really worth your life."

She doesn't wait for Debbie to respond, but heads down the hall with a wave, going towards the stairs.

"I'll lock the door on my way out and post the keys back through the front. I think you two have some talking to do."

And Debbie looks at Lou, who is watching her intently

"Yeah. We do."

The two of them stand there in some kind of silent stand-off until the door below them clangs shut and they hear the keys clatter on the floor. 

Debbie has finally stopped shaking, and her whole body is suddenly exhausted. She slides down the wall too, ending up at eye level, never breaking Lou's gaze.

It's Lou who breaks the silence, just like always. 

"So."

"So..."

But Lou doesn't say anything more, she just keeps watching, and Debbie has never been good with this kind of silence. Her hands twist in her lap, still covered in Lou's blood, and under the lights it looks so much worse and she can smell the tang of it in the air, the sting of blood and the antiseptic Sue used to clean the wound up burning in her nose. 

"...Danny got mixed up in something. I'm still not sure what. Nobody's told me anything, and all I've managed to piece together is based on hearsay. He went after someone... way out of our league, and the guy took it personally. I don't know... whether he's behind Danny's death but I'd stake his watch on it. Whatever Danny /did/... well. Killing Danny wasn't enough. He's after every Ocean. Obviously at this point that just means me. The whole family name and bloodline has to be wiped out, old-school justice. First I heard about it was when I got cornered in the showers. Never really knew what beaten within an inch of your life felt like before, but I know now."

Her gaze drops, and she toys with the hem of her nightdress, needing to do something to occupy bloody hands. 

"...Figured maybe I could outrun them. Disappear. I was in denial. I didn't mean to bring them to your door, but I guess... I should have known better than to think I could outrun people like that. So now... everything I was trying to prevent... I never wanted you to get hurt, I never wanted to drag you into this. But they followed me and they found me and... worst of all... I can't even blame them for this, because it wasn't them that stabbed you."

"I think you can blame them. I blame them. I certainly don't blame you. You haven't been in your right mind since you got out and all I've wanted to know is why. All I wanted to know was why and you wouldn't tell me that. It's taken this to make you talk. You used to trust me with everything, what changed?"

Debbie glances up at her, and there's the ghost of a smile on her own lips now. There's not an ounce of humour in it. There's nothing funny about this situation at all. 

"...I got out of my depth. I got out of my depth and I didn't want to let you down. I didn't want this to be real. I just wanted to... come out and... come back to you and... go back to... normal. But I'm in over my head, Lou, so deep I'm drowning, and the last thing I want to do is drag you down with me."

And Lou's watching her quietly, taking in everything Debbie's saying, absorbing it with her infinite patience. Lou's always been more patient with Debbie than she's deserved. 

There's a long beat before she breaks the silence. 

"Well. Okay. So what do we do now?"

**Author's Note:**

> Cameo here from Marvel's Sue Storm as a medic, again because I can and that's all the reason I need. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm so sorry.


End file.
